Every You, Every Me
by serenadreams
Summary: A series of drabbles centered around the first time Oliver and Felicity meet in various Alternate Universes. Basically a lot of different meet cutes because they're my favorite thing ever.
1. High School Bully

_*****_

* * *

><em><strong>AN: I don't really know what this is. I kind of started writing an AU story and then I realized that I couldn't really be bothered to write a whole full length thing. So this happened. And I already have a couple of other drabbles like this one written, so I figured I'd slap them in here as well and turn it into some kind of series?<strong>_ _**Random and kind of pointless but it will serve as a sort of brain dump for my ridiculous ideas :) Some might get expanded at some point depending on how long my inspiration lasts.**_ _**Title is from the song by Placebo. **_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 1: The High School Bully<strong>_

* * *

><p>"Geek!"<p>

Felicity ducked her head to avoid the laughing faces of the girls, leaning against the lockers and watching as she hurried down the hallway with an armful of books. She was used to it, the bullying had followed her from middle school right up into her senior year. She told herself they were just jealous of how smart she was, of the fact that she had never gotten below an A- on an assignment. (And that minus had been the week that her grandma had passed away so she hadn't had time to study.) But she knew she was just kidding herself, the beautiful girls who tortured her had no reason to envy her. They had friends, they had lives outside of books and college applications, they had boyfriends and party invitations and everything that felicity had never had.

The fact that she had skipped two grades didn't help, she was only sixteen while all her classmates were celebrating their eighteenth birthdays. She was an outcast in every sense of the word. But she never faltered in her goals, never tried to make herself seem less smart than she was, never put up with the discomfort of wearing contact lenses just to be prettier, or wasted time that could be spent studying to spend hours on her makeup. And she had the dozens of early admission college acceptances to show for it.

She gasped as someone bumped into her hard enough to send her stumbling back against the wall of lockers, her shoulder screaming in protest as it took the brunt of her weight. The books she'd been holding went crashing to the floor and she watched in dismay as the football player who'd crashed into her, kicked them across the hall with his boot. The scene began to attract a bit of a crowd and she blinked back tears as she heard the snickers and whispers surrounding her.

"On your knees, bitch!" The jock, she thought his name was Brent, leered, gesturing to her strewn books. Swallowing her pride, she dropped to her knees and began to gather her possessions. Trying to block out the lewd jeers surrounding her.

"Hey!" She looked up at the unfamiliar voice, and her eyes settled the angry face and hulking figure of an older boy shoving his way through the crowd until he stood toe to toe with her tormentor. Considering the fact that she didnt recognize him, and she knew everybody at this school by face, she knew he had to be the new transfer student she'd heard so much about. He'd been the talk of the entire school ever since he appeared unexpectedly the day before. She hadn't been included in any of the gossip sessions but she'd overheard quite a bit. From what she'd gathered, his name was Oliver Queen; he was at Coast City Academy because he'd been kicked out of every private school in starling city. He was richer than God, and impossibly gorgeous. She had to concede on that last point, as she watched him stare down the smaller guy in front of him.

"Where I come from, we don't find knocking a woman down amusing. Clearly, I've not only traveled to Coast City, but I've somehow managed to time travel to the Stone Age. It's really the only explanation I can come up with as to why I've found myself face to face with a Neanderthal." His voice was calm, but very low and threatening.

Felicity could see the other boys face hardening in anger, but he wasn't brave enough to try anything.

Oliver Queen turned his intense gaze on her then, his eyes softening slightly as they settled on her wide ones. He moved away from Brent, and held a hand out to her.

"Get up." The words were commanding, but his tone was gentle. She hesitated only a second before she took his offered hand and clambered to her feet. "Are you ok?" He looked her over as though checking for injuries and she felt herself flush under his heated gaze.

It wasn't until she nodded hesitantly that he turned back to Brent, who still stood staring at them, looking very confused. Almost as confused as Felicity herself.

"Pick up her books." This time Oliver's tone matched his words as he barked the order.

Felicity watched in shock as her bully reluctantly stooped to hastily gather her books from the floor. He handed them to her with barely disguised disdain, and she felt a sinking in her gut as she realized that the second Oliver had gone, she was going to pay for this.

"This isn't over." He snarled.

Felicity wasn't sure if he was talking to her or Oliver, or maybe both of them. But with one last scowl, he stalked off, shoving his way through the crowd and disappearing down the hall.

Oliver turned his attention on the gaggle of gaping kids surrounding them and rolled his eyes.

"Show's over. You can get back to your little lives now." He said loudly.

Felicity watched the crowd disperse for a second before turning back to look up at him.

"You didn't have to do that." She said quietly.

"I wanted to." He gave her a small smile, which she returned hesitantly. "You don't have to put up with them you know, why not fight back?"

She sighed and dropped her eyes to the floor. "I've learned from experience that that only makes it worse. It's easier to just walk away."

"Well maybe I'll just have to assign myself as your personal bodyguard then." He smirked. She looked at him in surprise and he chuckled at her expression.

"Oliver Queen." He held out a hand towards her and she felt herself smile as she took it.

"Felicity Smoak." She replied softly.

"Well, Felicity Smoak, what's your next class?"

"Chemistry."

"Mine too. You want a partner?"

And that was the moment that both of their lives were forever altered.

Felicity spent their senior year talking Oliver down from fights and persuading him to spend his nights studying with her instead of out and getting drunk. Which resulted in Coast Academy being the only school he wasn't kicked out of. When he graduated with honors Robert Queen actually hugged her in gratitude.

Oliver spent their senior year bullying off anyone who gave Felicity a hard time, and any of the male species who even looked at her twice, much to her irritation. He also managed to convince her that setting aside Saturday nights for fun as opposed to studying was a vital part of living. He was the one who got her drunk for the first time, teasing her for years afterwards about how she'd spent the whole night pronouncing her own name 'Lificity'.

When they graduated, he followed her all the way to MIT, where they shared a campus apartment for three years. She studied computer sciences while he did the business degree his father wanted him to. He had no intention of ever taking over his father's place as CEO of his company, but it was Felicity who told him that the degree would come in handy with all of the business endeavors he did want to do. Like opening a nightclub.

He put up with her first boyfriend, but not without threatening the poor kid very thoroughly on how dangerous it would be to his health if he were to hurt Felicity. It was she who ended the relationship after nine months, and Oliver took her out to an expensive restaurant and listened as she ranted and rambled about why she'd had to break up with him. He then sat and watched Iron Man with her while she sobbed onto his shoulder. He later denied any knowledge about why her ex was sporting a black eye the next day.

Oliver didn't have any serious relationships. But Felicity was well aware of the long list of girls he'd spent the night with. She tried not to think about it for the most part, but would have been lying if she said it didn't bother her. There was only one girl who ever stayed around for any length of time. Laurel. They were never in a proper exclusive relationship but she stuck around for a few months and he seemed to genuinely care for her. Until one morning after she'd spent the night at their apartment, she managed to bring Felicity to tears with a scathing comment about a rumor she'd heard (or started). Oliver told her to leave and he never saw her again.

And finally on graduation day, she'd stumbled off the podium, diploma in hand and raced towards him with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. He caught her in his arms and twirled her around, while she giggled with excitement. And then he'd set her down and kissed her like it was something they'd be doing for years. She kissed him back in the exact same way.

And nothing really changed, except that there were never any other women in Oliver's life after that, and when they moved into their next apartment back Starling City, the second bedroom was turned into a gym/computer lab.

Then there were club openings, and software design launches and galas and family dinners and eventually a spontaneous proposal while they were cooking mac and cheese on a Thursday night.

* * *

><p><em><strong> Reviews are food for inspiration people ;) 3<strong>_


	2. Do I Know You?

**_This is completely not what I had in mind when I started this, but it kind of took on a life of it's own and ran rampant. Sorry about that. Basically it's the '_meeting as kids and kind of loving each other and then meeting again 20 years later and kind of loving each other all over again_' trope. B**_asically this idea came from a book I read a while back, about kids who make an instant love connection when they meet... It's very cute, and apparently it does happen so I couldn't resist using it here a little. _**_**

**_Some notes before you read-_**

**_Kid Felicity is based on my four year old cousin, who is just about the most adorably precocious little person I've ever met. _**

**_There are several modern pop culture references in the childhood part, so I'm gonna say that since this is an AU, they're children around now and the 18 years later is 18 years in the future. Simply because I wanted to keep the Iron Man line ;)_**

**_Ok so obviously there's no island or Thea in this universe. And Robert died when Oliver was much younger (you'll discover that in the second part) But anyway, my theory is that those factors would effect Oliver's character. Which is why he's not the total pre-island douche bag he is in the show. Also it's my AU and he can't be douche for the sake of this story- writers convenience and everything. _**

**_OK I think that's everything! Let me know what you think!_**

* * *

><p>Oliver huffed angrily as he struggled to tie the little bow tie his mother had given him.<p>

"Stupid thing." He grumbled, glaring at the haphazard knot and shrugging in defeat.

"Are you ready Ollie?" His mother walked in to his room and pursed her lips when her eyes fell on his messy hair and disastrous tie. "Come here." She fixed the bow at his neck, and seemed to produce a comb out of nowhere before proceeding to rake it painfully through his hair.

"Mom stop it, it's fine." He pulled himself out of her reach with a scowl.

"Oliver this is an important night for your father. You need to be on your best behavior."

"I know."

He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He thought he looked like one of the penguins from Happy Feet. In his opinion, seven year olds should not be forced to spend evenings in penguin suits. They should be allowed to wear Iron Man suits instead. Sadly, his mother had not agreed when he'd suggested that be his formal wear for this evening.

"Mr. Smoak is bringing his daughter along. You can play with her."

Oliver wrinkled his nose at the thought.

"How old is she?"

"Just turned four, I think." He shook his head at his mom's offered hand and followed her out of his room as she continued talking. "Her name is Felicity." She turned back to fix him with a hard stare. "If you're very, very nice to her, you can ask Raisa to fix you both some ice cream when she gets here."

Oliver wasn't oblivious to the concept of bribery. In fact, it was one of the first things he'd taught himself. Well, blackmail too. So, he only had to consider for a moment before deciding that hanging out with a stupid little girl was worth it if he got one of Raisa's special ice cream sundaes.

"Okay." He conceded.

His mother smiled indulgently and led him down the grand staircase towards the crowds of grown ups exchanging pointless small talk. His father was nowhere in sight, but that was hardly a surprise. Despite having gone on and on about how important it was for Oliver to be there to 'present a wholesome family image to the investors' his father was unlikely to even acknowledge that he was there.

The scowl that had briefly lifted from his face at the mention of ice cream, settled itself firmly back over his features and he sighed dramatically as he trudged through the gathering.

"Oliver darling, come here." He followed his mother's voice to where she was talking to a stout man he recognized as Mr. Smoak, one of his fathers partners at the company.

"Oliver! Good God you're getting big!" Mr. Smoak bellowed.

Oliver smiled politely and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he was getting big. It was called growing up, all children did it, it was kind of a thing.

Instead, his eyes settled on a flash of pink beside the man's chubby legs. He walked around behind Mr. Smoak, watching in amusement as the small girl quickly mimicked his actions, circling her father's legs so that he could barely catch a glimpse of her.

"Oh Felicity, don't be shy." His mother was saying, "I've promised Oliver ice cream. Would you like to go with him and get some?"

A small face peeked out at that, large blue eyes settling on him hesitantly.

"Mint choc chip?" She asked, her hands still fisted in Mr. Smoak's suit pants.

"Mint choc chip's my favorite too." Oliver spoke for the first time, watching in interest as she relaxed a little, dropping her hands to her sides and stepping out completely from behind her father.

She was very short for a four year old, he noticed. She was wearing a ruffled pink dress that looked kind of like something Cinderella threw up, and she had long blonde hair that curled prettily around her shoulders. She was cute, in a fluffy kitten kind of way.

"You can come with me if you want. Raisa lets me put as many extra chocolate chips on as I want and if I ask in Russian she might give us sauce as well." Oliver said, his mouth starting to water at the thought.

Felicity's face broke into a wide smile, and she nodded excitedly. She ran towards him and held her hand out expectantly. He frowned, confused for a second before he realized what she wanted. He hesitated, but eventually reached out and grabbed her hand in his.

"I'll show you the way." He said proudly, starting to lead her off towards the kitchen.

"Oliver you need to look after Felicity okay? Don't let her go wondering off by herself." His mom called after them.

He nodded, "Okay." He called over his shoulder as he tugged the little girl towards their waiting ice cream.

"Oliver's a funny name." She piped up suddenly.

He turned to frown at her. "No it isn't." He said defensively.

"Yes it is."

"Why?"

She crinkled her forehead together as she thought. "Well it's like someone said olive and then forgot what they meant to say next. Olive…errr."

To his dismay, Oliver couldn't think of a good response to that, but luckily, they reached the kitchen and Raisa pounced on them before he had to.

"Let me guess, you two are after some ice cream?" Raisa asked with a smile.

Felicity nodded enthusiastically.

Raisa chuckled, petting his hair briefly before going to open the freezer.

"We have strawberry, cookie dough-"

"Felicity wants mint choc chip, same as me." Oliver cut in quickly. "With extra choc chips and sauce."

"Is that so? What do you say then?" Raisa asked, an eyebrow raised expectantly.

"Пожалуйста."

She smiled indulgently at him and went to fetch the ingredients. Oliver grinned proudly at the impressed look on Felicity's face.

Five minutes later, they were seated side by side at the breakfast bar, while Raisa placed two enormous bowls of minty chocolate goodness in front of them.

"For you Кузнечик. And for your lovely guest, enjoy Cолнышко." *

Oliver grinned and thanked her quickly. Felicity looked up at the older woman before leaning in close to Oliver. "How do you say thank you in her language?" She whispered.

He was happy she'd asked something he knew the answer to. He thought it might have been quite embarrassing if he didn't know what to tell her.

"Cпасибо." He whispered back.

She turned to Raisa and blushed prettily before saying the word quickly and surprisingly accurately for having just learned it.

Raisa gave her a huge smile and ruffled her hair before leaving them alone in the kitchen. Felicity looked pleased with herself for a second, but quickly grabbed her spoon and dove into her ice cream.

"Felicity's a funny name too you know." Oliver said after a minute.

Felicity didn't even pause in her effort to inhale her sundae. "No it's not. Felicity's a word, it means happiness. Oliver isn't a word." She said around a mouthful.

Oliver sighed; she had him there.

A little bit of ice cream dripped down her chin and he laughed at her, watching in interest as she blushed again. She seemed to do that a lot.

"After this we could play hide and seek." She suggested suddenly.

He frowned, usually hide and seek was his favorite game, but he couldn't play it with her.

"No. You're not meant to leave my sight. We can play something else." He said decisively.

"Like what?"

He thought for a second. "My favorite thing to do at parties is hide behind things and when people come past, I jump out and see if I can get them to spill their drink on themselves! We could do that."

She frowned at him, and he wondered if she was going to tell him that that was mean. But it only took a second for her frown to melt into a grin.

"Okay."

The evening passed quickly, full of games and laughter. They got on like a house on fire, despite the age difference. And although Felicity managed to keep up with him fairly well, he found himself happy to slow down a little for her. Not minding when he had to wait for her to catch up, or take time out of a game to explain the rules to her. He laughed more that evening than he had ever since the time his friend Tommy accidentally ate mouse poo.

But sadly, all too soon, Mr. Smoak was telling Felicity that it was time to go home.

Her bottom lip quivered and her eyes swam with tears at that news, and Oliver, on impulse, reached over and petted her head comfortingly. She looked up at him, her wide eyes heartbreakingly sad.

"I want to stay here with Oliver." She mumbled, reaching her small hand out towards his, much like she had done earlier in the evening. He took it gently in his own and squeezed it reassuringly.

"I'm sure we can play again soon." He said, looking up to her father for confirmation.

Mr. Smoak nodded. "Yes of course. Felicity you can come visit Oliver again whenever you want, okay?"

She brightened up then, and let go of Oliver's hand, allowing her father to pull her away.

"See you soon Oliver." She called.

"Wait!" He ran after them and stopped awkwardly in front of Felicity. "Take this." And, in a gesture he'd seen grown ups do in the past; he pulled his suit jacket off and tucked it around her shoulders. "It's cold outside." He explained shyly.

"Thank you." She slipped her arms through the sleeves, laughing at how long they were on her.

"Come on honey." Mr. Smoak said and Oliver took a step back, letting them go.

"Bye Felicity." He said, waving at her departing back.

She twisted around to look at him, a big smile lighting up her face.

"Bye Oliver."

* * *

><p><em>Eighteen years later<em>

Oliver leant against the bar; drink in hand, watching as Starling City's finest engaged in idle gossip and ill-disguised power plays. He hated this side of his life, the fake smiles and ulterior motives, the God-awful parties. If he had his way, he'd be spending his Saturday night in good company, with takeout pizza and a few beers instead of all dressed up and trying to keep the wolf from the door with tiny little 'amuse-bouches' that were barely the size of a single grape.

This whole scene made his stomach turn.

His father's last words, spoken to a sobbing fifteen-year-old Oliver sitting on the side of his hospital bed, had hit him hard, and he'd never really been able to fake it in these sort of situations since. _'Focus on what's right. What feels right.'_ His father had said. And this had never felt right; throwing money around just to show that you have it, smiling at people's faces just to turn and bitch about them a second later, keeping your opinions to yourself for fear of offending someone 'important'. He knew he had to be there to demonstrate to the world that the Queen family was still an integral part of Queen industries, and that it hadn't secretly become _Steele Consolidated _as the rumor mill suggested. But that didn't mean he had to play the game.

He grabbed the bottle of champagne that he'd been working on, and headed towards the veranda. He let himself out of the stuffy ballroom and into the chilly night air, closing the door firmly behind him, satisfied that no one seemed to have noticed his escape. He sighed and loosened his tie, undoing his top button before heading further out onto the patio.

He was about to sit down against the wall and get started on his champagne, when a flash of pink caught his eye. He turned to the left and widened his eyes when he realized that he wasn't alone. A girl was sitting on the very edge of the veranda, her legs dangling over the edge, her heels sitting beside her on the stone floor. She was wearing a long fuchsia dress that was rippling in the light breeze; her blonde locks dancing with it. She hadn't noticed him, she was lost in her own thoughts, her eyes fixed ahead of her, unfocused. He watched her for a second, transfixed by her quiet tranquility, before snapping himself out of it and strolling towards her.

He settled himself down next to her, watching in amusement as she jumped in surprise and turned to stare up at him. She was beautiful.

"Hi?" She mumbled.

"Hi."

She crinkled her brow at him, whether in confusion or exasperation, he wasn't sure, but something about the gesture was achingly familiar and he found himself searching his mind for where he might have met her before. She was stunning, all long legs and soft curves, and that sort 'gorgeous without even realizing it' thing that seemed to come hand in hand with the lingering innocence that surrounded her. He was sure he would have remembered meeting her, if he had done so already.

She was still looking at him questioningly, and he realized that he was probably freaking her out a little, a strange man sitting himself down next to her on a dark patio.

"I guess I'm not the only one in need of refuge from the party." He said, hoping to show her that he didn't intend on kidnapping her or anything.

She sighed and looked over her shoulder to where the flickering lights of the gala were filtering through the large bay windows behind them.

"Yeah, I hate these things." Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but again came the feeling that he'd heard it before, something tugging at the back of his consciousness.

He shook his head slightly and looked at her through narrowed eyes. Had they run into each other at one of these parties before? He surely would've remembered that. Were they at college together? There were always a lot of girls around in those days, but she looked to be a few years younger than him, so that wouldn't work; that ruled out school as well. Or was he just imagining it?

He took a swig of champagne and held the bottle out to her in a silent offering. She shook her head, smiling her thanks. He was sure he'd seen that smile before.

He sighed, giving in and blurting out the question before he could talk himself out of it.

"I'm sorry… Do we know each other? You seem very familiar." He said, watching her reaction carefully.

She stared at him, her pretty blue eyes traveling over his face, her forehead pulling together in concentration.

"I don't think so." She shrugged. "Maybe we ran into each other at one of these things before?" She suggested and he nodded absently. It was possible, he supposed.

"Oh! Sorry. Felicity Smoak." She said quickly gesturing to herself with a cute wave of her hand.

He stilled. He knew that name. And now as he was looking at her, he realized he knew exactly who she was.

Felicity Smoak. _Felicity Smoak. _The little girl he'd sort of accidentally fallen in love with when he was seven years old. He'd been teased about that night for years afterwards, his mother telling the story of the time he wrapped his jacket around a little four year old girl, to anyone who'd listen. He remembered the night fairly clearly, the ice cream, the games, her ruffled pink dress, a remarkably similar shade to the one she was wearing now in fact. He'd asked about her every day for a month, hoping she'd come over to play again. He'd been horribly disappointed when he'd learnt that her father had relocated them to Coast City.

And now here she was, all grown up, and yet kind of exactly the same. Except all... sexy.

"Felicity."

He hadn't realized he'd said it aloud until he caught the funny look she was giving him.

"Sorry. I…" He broke off, finding that he was kind of at a loss for words. "We do know each other." He managed to get out, after a moment.

She looked confused.

"Really? Are you sure, because I'm usually pretty good with- Oh god, you're not the guy from my 21st birthday party are you? Because all I remember from that night is that I kissed _someone _and that they were male. Well I also kissed my friend Karen later on that night but…That's beside the point." She cut herself off and took a deep breath as though centering her thoughts.

He found himself grinning at her little ramble, she was cute when she spoke, very animated, full of life.

"No, I wasn't at your birthday party, although now I kind of wish I was."

She blushed prettily and he had a sudden vision of her doing the exact same thing all those years before.

"We played together once when we were kids, a long time ago." He mimicked the wavy hand gesture thing she'd done earlier as he introduced himself "Oliver Queen."

She grinned at him then, her eyes lighting up and her nose wrinkling adorably.

"Oliver!"

"You remember?"

She nodded and he could easily see the excitement on her face. It made in his chest lurch unexpectedly.

"Well... I mostly remember my dad telling me the story… But I remember the ice cream! To this day that was the best ice cream sundae I have ever had."

He was grinning with her then, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

"Oh and the jacket of course. I remember the jacket." Her voice took on a softer tone then, and her eyes shifted to something else, something that made his already jumpy chest jump even higher.

"Yeah, apparently that was one of my finer moments." He murmured.

"It was definitely a great moment." She agreed. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I still have the jacket."

She turned to face him in her excitement, pulling her legs up and tucking them under her. He was struck again by how beautiful she was, all shiny eyes and alabaster skin.

"You still have it?" He asked, surprised.

"I think it's in the attic at my dad's house in Coast City, with all my childhood stuff. I remember being reluctant to get rid of it…"

He wasn't sure why that knowledge made him so happy, but it did.

"Are you here with your dad?" He asked.

"Yeah. Well I mean, I live here now, in Starling City… And my dad's only in town for a couple of nights and apparently he _had _to come to this thing, so I decided to come with him so we could spend some time together." She rolled her eyes, gesturing around them at the empty patio. "You see how well that worked out."

He nodded, he remembered those days with his own father.

"So what has Oliver Queen hiding out here?" She asked.

He snorted quietly. "I think I'd rather have my teeth removed with pliers than spend more than an hour at one of these benefits." He said dryly.

She laughed. "They are a bit ridiculous." She agreed. "And what's with the tiny food? It's like, 'here have a little taste of something just to make you realize how hungry you are, but that's it'."

He grinned when she spoke the exact thoughts he'd been having earlier.

"Not a fan of the amuse bouches?" He asked lightly, a teasing lilt to his voice.

"I don't find them amusing." She chuckled at her own joke, and he laughed with her. Wondering how someone could be so sexy and so adorable at the same time. He didn't think he'd ever come across that combination before.

"So what have you been up to, in the last... However many years?" She asked after a moment.

He hesitated before answering, wondering if what he was about to do was the right thing. _It felt right._

"Maybe we can catch up on those missing…" He did quick calculation "Eighteen years over dinner." He said, watching for her reaction.

She smiled.

"Considering the fact that neither of us want to be here, and the people we came with clearly haven't come looking for us… That sounds like fun." She said. "Nothing fancy though, I've had my fill of fancy for one evening.I would kill for a burger right now." She groaned. "I literally haven't eaten all day, I really wouldn't be surprised if I passed out."

She seemed to have a habit of rambling a little, but to his surprise, he realized that it was just another thing about her that he seemed to find endearing.

He tried to curb his excitement as he jumped to his feet; there was really no reason for him to be getting all worked up over going to dinner with a girl.

But she wasn't just _a_ girl, she was _the_ girl, the though flitted unbidden through his head. But he forced it away and tried to stay focused on the present. He should at least wait until they'd been on one date before deciding he was in love with her all over again.

"Burgers it is then." He said, holding a hand out to her and helping her to her feet. She was still tiny, barely reaching his shoulder. He'd never specifically had a thing for height difference, but with her, he rather loved it. It was like she was something precious and fragile he had to protect. He remembered feeling like that when he was a kid too.

"Sounds perfect." She agreed, standing barely a foot in front of him, heels in hand; dimples and rosy cheeks, and pink lipstick. Looking very _very_ kissable. He resisted the urge, and held out his arm for her to hold while she slipped her heels back on. They gave her an extra lift, but she still stood several inches shorter than him.

"Okay, I'm ready." She said triumphantly when she was done.

He smiled and gently brushed a hand down her arm to take her elbow. He noticed the goosebumps across her skin and smiled to himself as he had an idea.

He shrugged out of his jacket, watching as her eyes widened in surprise, and then tucked it carefully over her shoulders, sweeping her golden hair out from underneath.

"Take this. It's cold outside." He said quietly, mimicking his childhood words.

She beamed up at him and his chest lurched yet again. He wondered if that was going to be a constant thing when he was with her. He hoped she'd be around long enough for him to find out.

"Thank you." She whispered.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and couldn't resist the urge to lightly trail his fingertips down her cheek. Smiling at her flushed face, he dropped his hand to wrap around hers, entwining their fingers naturally, as though they'd done it a hundred times before.

"Let's go." He grinned. "Those burgers aren't going to eat themselves.

* * *

><p><strong>* Raisa calls Oliver 'grasshopper' and Felicity 'sunshine<strong>'. **_They're both things my nanny used to say to me in Russian. However it's been a long time since I wrote any Russian, so the spelling is probably wrong, sorry! _**


	3. Whoever You Are, Please Just Listen

Summary: Felicity is the daughter of a rich, corrupt business owner. The Hood pays them a visit.

Notes: This one's short, ridiculous and yeah I basically hate everything about it. Sorry. But I'm uploading it anyway, because it's already written and I might as well. The next one will be better, pinky swear. :) Also in this world Tommy never died, and Felicity obviously wasn't around, so Oliver's still killing, and focusing all his attention on the list.

* * *

><p><p>

The sound of glass shattering and raised voices woke Felicity late on that particular Wednesday night. Sitting up in bed, she listened intently, her heart stuttering with fear when she heard her father cry out. She jumped out of bed and ran out of her room, not bothering even to throw a robe over her short pajamas. She raced down the stairs and to her father's study where the commotion was originating.

She hesitated for a second outside the room, her ear pressed to the door, adrenaline roaring through her ears.

"Please. Please."

Felicity had heard her father say many things, but please was rarely one of them. And in the few times she had heard him utter the word, it had never been like that, _begging._

Heart pounding, she pushed the door open, her eyes quickly taking in the scene before her. Her father was backed up into a wall, his hands held up in a gesture of surrender, his face distorted with fear. And facing him, on the other side of the room, was the reason.

Felicity had heard about him. The Hood, Green Arrow, Starling City's resident vigilante. She knew he went after corrupt one percent-ers, to bully them into righting their wrongs, or face the fatal consequences. But she had never imagined he'd show up here, in her house, in the middle of the night, aiming his bow and arrow at her dad.

She knew they were privileged… Perhaps that was putting it mildly; they were rich, stinking rich in fact. But they weren't criminals. Smoak industries was an astronomically successful import-export company that her grandfather had built from the ground up. There was no reason for Green Arrow to be targeting her father, he has no part in organized crime, he wasn't trafficking women, or doing any of the other heinous crimes she'd read about the vigilante's previous victims.

Both men had turned their attention to her by that point, her dad's eyes widening in horror as he saw her.

"Felicity, run!" He shouted.

She considered it for a brief moment, but stood her ground, her eyes fixed on the dark figure of the man she'd read so much about.

Even though his eyes were hidden by his hood, she could tell he was watching, waiting to see if she'd do as her father bid. He was giving her a chance to leave unharmed. She raised her chin defiantly and took a step closer, in a silent show of solidarity.

She may have imagined it, but for a second she thought she saw the vigilante tense, shifting his weight briefly as though he was uncomfortable with this turn of events. But then his shoulders were rolling back and he was raising the bow.

"Andrew Smoak. You have failed this city. I gave you a chance to right your wrongs and you refused. You must suffer the consequences of your actions." His voice was hard and unwavering, the modifier he wore giving it an eerie tone of finality.

The ringing in her ears grew louder, as Felicity seemed to watch the scene in slow motion, her father's angry shouts fading into the background. All her attention focused on the arrow that was pointing straight at the only family she had left.

She acted without thinking, if she _had_ thought it through, perhaps she wouldn't have done it. Andrew had not been the best father a girl could ask for; he worked late into the night, he'd hired nannies to raise her from the day her mother had died, right up until her eighteenth birthday. In truth she barely knew him, but since she'd come back from college and finally agreed to take her rightful place at the company, he'd been there for her more than she'd ever imagined he would be. And even without that, he was still her father, and she couldn't let him die. Not when she could do something about it.

And so, without hesitation, she stepped into the line of fire. Standing equidistance between the two men, the firm set of her chin defying the raging fear in her eyes.

The bow slipped a little, the arrow dipping until it pointed down just enough so it wouldn't hit her if it was released. That eased her fear just enough for her to summon the last reserve of courage she had, and plead her case.

"Please. I know there's a man in there, underneath the hood and behind the arrow. And I'm speaking to him, I'm _pleading _with him not to do this. This is my dad, and he's all I've got left in the whole world. And I know you wouldn't be here without reason, but whatever he's done, however bad you think he is, if you kill him tonight, you'll be no better. Because you'll have to go through me and I have done _nothing _wrong. I mean literally, I've never even cheated on a test for God's sake… I mean I did get a parking ticked once, but I disputed it and ended up winning so… Never mind. What I'm trying to say here is, I'm not going to let you hurt him. You'll have to hurt me first. And hurting me means you're not a vigilante; you're a cold blooded criminal, who shoots arrows into harmless twenty year old girls." Her voice had grown stronger as she spoke, and she knew she had both men's absolute attention. "So whoever you are, please just listen. If you have evidence that he did something wrong, take to the police. Just don't hurt us."

There was a deafening silence when she was done, and she wondered if she'd just made a huge mistake. But then the bow was lowered completely, and she knew they were safe.

"It's Felicity, right?" The gravelly, distorted voice asked, in a gentler tone than she'd heard it before.

"Yes."

He nodded, and hesitated for a second before giving her an almost imperceptible nod.

"You're a very brave girl, your father owes you his life. I won't hurt you, but you will be getting a visit from the FBI tomorrow." He said slowly, letting his words sink in.

She nodded, if her family's company was doing anything that wasn't on the books, she wanted to know about it.

"Thank you." She whispered.

He turned to leave, slinging his bow over his shoulder and starting towards the broken window he'd come in by. But at the last second, he turned back and looked at her.

"You, Felicity Smoak, are remarkable." His words were quiet, but even behind the moderator, she could hear that they were genuine. And, despite the fact that this man had just broken into her house in the middle of the night and threatened her with a bow and arrow, she found herself smiling at him.

"Thank you." She repeated, and then he was gone.

Little did she know that that would not, by any means, be the last time she'd lay her eyes on the Green Arrow.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Also guys if you want to leave me prompts or ideas or something for more, that would be welcome :)<strong>_


	4. Why Waste More Time?

**_Pearl Harbor AU. I'm not even sorry. God I love that movie and ugh yes wow I think I might have to continue this one because PEARL HARBOR AU HOW HAS NO ONE DONE THIS YET? Sorry I need to calm down._**

_**Okay notes - this is obviously set in 1941, before the attack on PH. And I know this one is short, but like I said, I'm thinking about continuing it so maybe consider this drabble as a preview or something?**_

_**Is this something you'd want to read more of? Let me know!**_

* * *

><p><em>September 1941<em>

The steady chug of the train was calming to Oliver's tired nerves, and after an hour or so on board he found himself relaxing slightly. Letting his book lie abandoned on the seat beside him, he closed his eyes and allowed the rhythmic hum of the engine to begin lulling him to sleep. He had a long way to go, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to arriving at his destination.

His momentary peace was interrupted by his carriage door being quietly opened. He snapped his eyes open and turned to glare at the intruder, only to find himself staring at a young woman. She had her long blonde hair loose around her shoulders and wore a belted green dress that came to just below her knees. Her eyes flew to his and she flashed a quick smile, all shiny white teeth and sparkling blue eyes.

He raised his eyebrows as she pressed a finger to her lips, and her eyes glittered at his confused expression. And then she was darting forwards, and he could only watch in surprise as she dropped to her knees and slipped beneath the bench opposite him.

He opened his mouth to say something, he had no idea what, when the compartment door opened again and a stout man wearing a conductor's uniform poked his head in.

"Afternoon Sir." He nodded at Oliver. "You haven't seen a young lady pass by here, have you? Blonde hair, green dress?" He asked.

Oliver hesitated for barely a second before shaking his head.

"Can't say that I have, I'm afraid." He said lightly. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing to worry about Sir. Enjoy the rest of your journey."

The man gave a brief, polite smile before disappearing back down the passageway.

The woman in question popped her head out from beneath the seat and looked around, checking that they were alone, before scrambling out of her hiding place and back to her feet.

"Thank you." She smiled at him, she seemed to do that a lot, smile that is.

Oliver couldn't help but return the gesture. Her very being sparkled with such life and joy that it was almost impossible not to respond.

"May I inquire why you're hiding from the ticket collector?" He asked, watching intently as her cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

She sat down primly on the seat opposite him, folding her hands neatly on her lap.

"I'm a stow away." She said calmly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

His eyebrows shot up and he opened his mouth to respond, only to close it quickly, realizing that he ran the risk of accidentally being very insulting, whatever he said.

"I see." He replied simply. "Well you're welcome to stow away in here if you wish. I could use the company."

She smiled once again, and relaxed a little in her seat.

"I was hoping you would say that." She responded easily, yet another smile gracing her pretty face. "I'm Felicity."

She held a hand out toward him and he took it in his own, marveling at how small and delicate it was against his.

Felicity. Her name suited her. Happiness. She radiated it.

"Oliver."

She shook his hand formally and he found himself unwilling to let go, he did though, reluctantly letting her draw her hand back to her lap.

"So, Oliver, where are you off to on this fine autumn day?" She leant her elbows against the table between them and regarded him with curiosity.

"Virginia for now. But I'll be shipping out for Pearl Harbor in two weeks."

Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

"I didn't take you for a soldier. The first class cabin and expensive suit is more indicative of a business man." She commented, her eyes raking over him in a way that made his spine tingle.

"It was a choice. Just because I come from a wealthy family, doesn't mean I shouldn't help defend our country." He said, his eyes drifting from her face to gaze out of the window at the passing scenery.

She interrupted his moment of reverie by saying softly; "That's an admirable decision."

He turned back to her, surprised to see her lips lacking the joy he'd seen there before. Instead she had an almost sad look upon her face.

Hoping to coax her smile back into place, he mimicked her position, resting his elbows against the table, he regarded her openly.

"So what about you, Miss Stow Away? What is your destination?"

Her lips quirked up, just as he had hoped they would and she considered him carefully for a second before replying.

"As long as it's far away from where I started. It doesn't matter." Her eyes sparkled with mischief and he was struck again by her vigor. Hunger for life was practically singing through her veins, and it was almost addictive to see.

"So tell me, what's the drink service like up here in first class?" She asked after a moment, her teeth sinking temptingly into her lower lip.

Yes, his journey just got much more entertaining.


	5. help me through this hopeless haze

**_Chapter Summary: _**_Oliver meets Felicity in Vegas six years earlier, when he's nothing more than a confused playboy, and she's far too young for him to be looking at._

**_AN: _**_The whole Felicity grew up in Vegas thing has given me endless plotbunnies! So here's one of them. It ended up a little more melancholy than I intended it..._

_Also I think I probably adjusted her age? I simply don't buy that they're only 2 years apart on the show. Nope. There had to be more of a difference for this to work._

_One other thing, the only Felicity I've ever known in real life was always called Fliss for short. And since I really hate 'Lissy' I think I'm going to start using it!_

* * *

><p>Oliver Queen's 21st birthday was as big and out of control as everyone had assumed it would be. Held in Vegas, a bunch of trust fund babies and socialites drank more alcohol and lost more money than was remotely respectable.<p>

The only unexpected aspect of the whole affair, was how little Oliver enjoyed himself. Maybe it was because he'd just broken up with Laurel again, the week before, or maybe it was because the arrival of his 21st year meant the arrival of adulthood, responsibilities, everything he didn't want to be thinking about.

It was a three-day party at Caesar's Palace, and on the first night, Oliver Queen was as predictable as you can get. He drank half the bar, started a fight with a card dealer and ended the night with a showgirl in his bed.

The second day dawned bright and early with a hangover of epic proportions. He spent most of the day by the pool with sunglasses on and headphones in, blocking out the rest of the world and trying to ignore the cloying emptiness he always felt after a night of partying that hard.

The evening found him alone at one of the hotel's many bars, staring morosely into a glass of bourbon. He wasn't really sure what had him so down, there wasn't any particular emotion that he could put his finger on, simply a restless sense of dissatisfaction.

He didn't notice the blonde approaching the bar, until he heard the keep call out a greeting.

"Hey Fliss! Ginger beer while you wait?"

Oliver turned to take in the new arrival; a petite blonde with pink glasses pushed up into her hair, holding long curls off her face. She was beautiful. Her face clean of makeup aside from a sweep of pink lip gloss, casually dressed in a pair of jeans and a tank top, she was a refreshing sight amongst the throngs of overly done up, plastic girls he'd encountered over the last 24 hours.

She didn't even glance at him as she took a seat on a stool on the other end of the bar. A tall glass of soda was placed in front of her and she smiled her thanks at the bartender. 'Brian' according to his nametag.

"How'd you do today?" He asked, winking conspiratorially at the girl, who laughed lightly and began to fish around in her bag.

She pulled out a stack of chips and held them up for him to see.

"Two grand!"

"Wow! Is it getting easier, or are you getting better?"

"A little bit of both."

She shoved the chips back into her purse and took a gulp of her drink.

"You seen my mom today?"

The warmth that had been dancing in her eyes dimmed slightly as she asked.

Brian shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable as he answered.

"Once or twice."

The girl narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth as though to question him some more, before she sighed heavily and shook her head, her golden hair dancing prettily over her shoulders.

"I'm guessing I don't want to know?" She murmured, just a trace of bitterness coloring her tone.

The bartender gave her a sympathetic smile but didn't answer.

"She said she'd be here by ten." She glanced at the colorful watch on her wrist and bit her lip. "I'll give her an hour."

Brian nodded and patted her shoulder briefly, before turning to move on down the bar. "Holler if you need anything Fliss." He called as he walked away.

Oliver was too tired and drunk to try and analyze their conversation, but all he knew was that the sadness painted on her pretty face looked wrong. He wanted to see her smiling, because in that brief moment when she'd laughed just a few minutes earlier, his heart had leapt in a way it hadn't in years.

He wasn't sure why he was still watching her. She was obviously quite young, and he had no intention of tainting her light with his destructive hands. But the way her hair shone like the sun, the way her face changed from expression to expression so quickly, the way her teeth sunk into her rosy lips, the way she picked at the coaster in front of her, the way she kept glancing at her watch, her brows pulling together into the cutest frown he'd ever seen… It was all like balm to his sore eyes. And he found himself reluctant to look away.

He got away with it for nearly ten minutes before she looked up and noticed his gaze. He was surprised it had taken her so long. Most people could feel eyes on them, but she'd been completely unaware.

His eyes met her soft blues for just a second, and he thought he could probably drown in their sweetness. But then they dropped to the bar and she shifted in her seat, her arms wrapping around her torso and her mouth hardening.

"Before you say anything. I know exactly who you are, so you should know that I'm seventeen, and you spent last night with my mom's best friend. If you even try to hit on me, I'll punch you. Or I'll get Brian to punch you, or… Well someone will punch you!"

He smiled despite himself and held his hands up in surrender.

"I'm not going to hit on you. I promise. And I didn't mean to scare you it's just… You're the most genuine person I've seen in a while. It was refreshing." He trailed off and watched as she turned back to look at him, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Sorry." He mumbled, dropping his gaze to his now empty glass.

He shouldn't have had whiskey. It always made him melancholy. Tommy couldn't stand him when he'd been drinking bourbon, he said he ended up sounding like a depressed philosopher.

"It's okay. I'm sorry I made an assumption, but I have to be pretty cautious around here. Some guys can be real sleazebags." Her voice was softer, gentle and it washed over him like a warm breeze on a cool evening.

He hadn't been expecting her to say anything. In fact, he'd been expecting her to jump up and leave. He wouldn't have blamed her if she had. But when he lifted his eyes to meet hers, she was smiling, her body turned towards his, her defensive posture dropped.

"If you're looking for genuine people, I don't think you came to the right place." She said lightly.

"Probably not." He agreed, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"So how come Oliver Queen's sitting alone at a bar and not off vying for another showgirl?" She asked curiously, her eyes lacking the judgment he'd expected to see.

"Has the whole casino heard about that already?" He wondered how many videos of him stumbling around like a drunken idiot had been uploaded to the web so far. That was something to look forward to when he returned home.

"Yeah pretty much. Her name's Jasmine, she used to babysit me. She's very sweet… If a little loose." She shrugged and wrinkled her nose slightly, in a gesture that could only be described as adorable. "At least it wasn't my mother though." She shuddered.

"Yeah." He agreed, just a little too adamantly. "And uh- in answer to your question… I honestly don't know."

"You don't know why you're not trying to sleep with another showgirl, or you don't know why you're sad?"

She'd moved a few stools closer, and was sitting only a couple of feet away from him now.

He wanted to bury himself in her light.

"Who says I'm sad?" He asked, holding her gaze, soaking up as much of her warmth as he could while he had the chance.

"Your eyes." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. But the hushed words hit him hard. His chest ached because he'd never heard it spoken out loud, he'd never even admitted it to himself. Because he was sad. He was a spoilt, pampered, womanizing, jerk. But he was sad. Somewhere underneath all the coats of arrogance, carelessness and money, something was missing. And it hurt.

He stumbled to his feet and ran a hand through his hair, his breathing quickened and the room spun oddly before his eyes. He could vaguely hear her voice calling his name, but the constricted feeling in his chest wouldn't go away and he wasn't sure what the hell was wrong with him.

But then a small, warm hand grasped his, delicate fingers brushing against his humming skin.

And then the world came back into focus and all he could see was her. A little golden haired angel in a sea of confusion.

"Sorry." He rasped out. "I think I've had too much to drink."

"No, I'm sorry. I had no right to say that, it was way out of line! I have no brain to mouth filter."

Her hand was still in his, and he squeezed it gently, his eyes finding hers and holding her worried gaze.

"Genuine, remember? It's refreshing."

She smiled and the coil in his chest loosened a notch.

"Felicity!"

A woman's voice interrupted them and they both turned, her hand falling from his.

Felicity. The name fit her well.

"Hey mom. You ready?" Her stance changed, an arm wrapped back around her torso and her fingers nagged at the hem of her top.

She grabbed her bag from the bar and smiled up at him.

"It was nice to meet you Oliver." She said quietly, her voice dropping to a whisper as she added; "Happy Birthday." Her hand found his again, for just a second before it was gone and she was turning away. Joining her mother and walking out of his life before he managed to say any of the things he wanted to.

He went back to his room alone that night. Because all he could think about was a pretty girl who's hair shone almost as bright as her soul.

* * *

><p>He didn't see her again for six years. Until one day, he walked into the IT department at Queen Consolidated, battle scars and all, and came face to face with a beautiful blonde with wide blue eyes and a light that glowed brighter than ever.<p>

"Felicity Smoak."

She looked up and he smiled, because he'd recognize her anywhere. The girl in the bar in Vegas who'd shown him such kindness, who'd even for just one night, healed a little bit of his soul.

She was older, but she'd barely changed, her lips were painted pink, her hair shone like the sun and just as it had all those years before, her beauty washed over him like a warm breeze on a cold day.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Review, comment, criticize... Let me know what you think!<strong>_


	6. a wake up call (and her pretty eyes)

**_Chapter Summary: _**_Pre-island. Based on a tumblr prompt: Oliver and Felicity meet when they get into a car accident._

_**_AN: _**It's short and kind of cheesy, so forgive me. I'm a little incoherent from lack of sleep at the moment._

* * *

><p><em>It's his fault. He isn't paying attention to the road, he's being careless and thoughtless and as usual, it gets someone hurt.<em>

He runs the red, going way too fast, and before he knows what's happening there's a flash of headlights, far too close and then the deafening sound of metal meeting metal.

He has the brief thought that it's just as well he chose to drive his SUV tonight instead of one of his smaller cars, but then he sees the tiny mini he's hit flipping over to land on the other side of the road and his stomach clenches.

He hits his head in the impact, and there's a minute of confused dazedness before his lucidity returns, and with it, horror. Scrambling out of his seat and wiping away the trickle of blood that's slowly dripping down his forehead, he jogs towards the overturned vehicle on the other side of the road. He can see even before he reaches it that the damage is extensive, and thinks vaguely that if there is a God, he really should be praying right about now.

Killing someone is not something his father will be able to make disappear. He's not sure it's something his conscience will be able to ignore either.

"Hello?" He calls as he reaches the wreck, his voice uneven and slightly frantic. "Can you hear me? Are you hurt?" There's no reply and his heart thumps loudly as he crouches down to peer in through a broken window.

His eyes settle on blonde hair, strewn out across the dashboard. Blonde hair streaked with red.

He quickly runs around to the driver's side and drops to his knees. He reaches through the shattered glass, and with shaking hands pushes aside the curtain of hair. She's beautiful. Her eyes closed, lashes creating shadows against her pale cheeks. She looks young and fragile and his heart lurches in his chest, fear, shame and guilt threatening to drown him.

There's blood across her forehead, and dripping from her lip.

His fingers find her pulse point and he presses against the soft skin, distantly realizing that he's muttering pleas under his breath.

He feels a steady thrum beneath his fingers, and exhales roughly, almost giddy with relief. Once he's assured himself that she's alive, he does a quick inventory of her injuries, eyes running carefully over her small body. From what he can see, her neck and back look unharmed, and the only blood visible is on her face and head. But there's still a chance of internal bleeding or something else he can't see and he knows he has to get her help, fast.

He's about to run back to his car to get his phone, when the acrid smell of smoke fills his nose and with a steady sinking in his gut, he turns to see a small flame licking up a trail of liquid by a rear tire.

A wave of panic washes over him and he acts on instinct, reaching for the girl and gently shifting her back so he can get to her seatbelt. He unlocks it quickly, carefully extricating it from around her prone body. He sends up a quick prayer that he's not injuring her further, before leaning into the quickly warming vehicle and, unmindful of the shards of glass cutting his knees, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and hooking the other beneath her legs, he carefully pulls her from the wreck.

She's a petite little thing and he lifts her easily as soon as they're free of the tangled metal. She feels soft and warm in his arms, and another bubble of self-loathing rise in his throat. He's really gone too far this time.

People are always telling him that if he carries on being so careless with life, he's going to screw up so bad, there's no coming back. And now there's a beautiful girl, lying still in his arms, her pretty skin decorated with cuts and bruises, because he didn't listen.

Tears sting the corners of his eyes and he blinks them away, trying to stay focused. He carries her from her car, walking carefully across the road to his.

Managing to get the passenger door open, he climbs into the seat with her cradled in his lap. He fumbles for his phone, and he's just managed to unlock the damn thing and start dialing when she wakes up. He's so surprised by her soft groan that he drops the phone into the foot well. Ignoring it for the minute, he looks down at her face and sees her eyes blink lazily open. He's met with a pair of pretty blues that gaze up at him curiously.

"This is a nice position to wake up in." She mumbles, her eyes fluttering closed once more, for a brief second, before they snap back open and a crease forms on her brow. "That- I didn't… wait, what's happening?"

He smiles down at her, in what he hopes is a reassuring, non-threatening way.

"We were in an accident. You're okay… I think."

"An accident?" She tries to sit up, and he shifts her until she's more seated in his lap, breathing an internal sigh of relief that her neck and back don't seem damaged. "I don't remember." She mumbles, looking confused and a little scared. It's an equal mix of adorable and heartbreaking and he wonders what she looks like when she's smiling. He's sure it must be the most beautiful thing.

"I'm going to call the police, all right? Just try to stay still, you might have a concussion or something."

She nods vaguely as he reaches for his phone. Dialing 911 quickly, he briefly explains what happened, dropping his name a couple of times in the hopes that it might encourage them to be particularly fast. He's just hung up when the girl, he should ask her name at some point, stiffens and gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.

He looks out of the window, following her line of focus. Her car is burning, thick, orange flames engulfing the red paint.

"My mini!" She mumbles, sounding close to tears.

His hand finds its way to her hair without thinking, gently stroking the damp strands out of her face.

"I'm so sorry. I'll buy you a new one, okay?" He says softly. He'd buy her a hundred cars, if it would take that look off her face. And not just to appease his extensive guilt, but because she looks so sad and pretty and he just really, _really_ wants to see her smile.

She leans her head back against his shoulder, sighing softly, eyes drooping.

"Red with white details, please." She mumbles, and promptly passes out.

The police and paramedics arrive a few minutes later and he insists on riding with her to the hospital. Apparently her name is Felicity Smoak, she's twenty years old, she's allergic to peanuts and her only family is a mother in Vegas.

He doesn't leave her bedside until she wakes up.

His best friend Tommy gives a speech five years later, standing in front of everyone they know, dressed in a tux. And it's perfect and it's sweet, and Felicity cries. Oliver brushes away her tears and kisses her nose, coaxing a watery smile. He was right, that night on the road, it really is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. And just two hours ago, he vowed to spend the rest of his life keeping that shiny smile on her face.


	7. colors

_Don't you think I was too young_  
><em>To be messed with?<em>

He's lost when he sees her. He's drowning in a world of gray, a world filled with nothing but pain and loss. And he sees her and all he can see are colors. With a gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans and a knife strapped to his ankle, he's nothing but darkness. But she's… She's that silly cliché, that the sight of something beautiful can heal any scar.

Yellow hair, curling and unruly from the humidity, tumbles around her shoulders. Her dress is red and blue. Her laugh is every color of the rainbow.

It's a flower stall of all things, in the middle of a Saturday street market. He's got blood on his hands, literally, he wiped it on his dark cargo pants, but he can still feel it on his fingers. He's left a man dead mere minutes before, a bad man, a man who brought more pain to more people than Oliver ever has, but a man nonetheless. He snuffed a light out without flinching, only to walk out into the sunshine and stumble upon the brightest star he's ever seen.

He hates himself with every step he takes towards her. Hates to watch the darkness that travels with him like a cloud draw close to something so innocent.

She's young, younger than him, too young to be messed with by someone as damaged as he. Too young to be broken. Too young to be obliterated.

But he doesn't stop walking closer.

She talks to everyone who approaches her stall, with a smile on lips that seem to run away from her at every opportunity. She blushes too. Her cheeks turning pink, animated hands with painted nails punctuating everything she says with a gesture.

There's a boy sitting to her right, and a dog standing alert to her left. Oliver's glad she has protectors; maybe they'll stop him before he can turn all those colors dark.

He's too close. Too close to losing the last shred of him that still remembers what it means to be human, that still remembers the things that matter. There's a horrible, selfish part of him that thinks maybe she's exactly what he needs. Someone beautiful and light to fix him before it's too late.

He reaches her before he can turn back, and then that smile is directed at him and his heart is doing things it hasn't done in years.

"Hi! What are you looking for today?" She's so goddamn perky, so full of life and joy and it hurts him as much as it heals him.

He needs to leave.

He should walk away, right now.

But he doesn't. It's warm in her bubble of sunlight.

His eyes find hers. Blue and clear and endless.

And unseeing.

She looks right at him, but there's no focus in her gaze. Perhaps that's why she's still smiling at him, she hasn't seen the wreck of a man that stands before her. She doesn't know to shrink away in fear, from someone so clearly dangerous.

Because she can't see him.

"A gift for a girlfriend?" She wonders, fingers tapping against lightly against the table.

It takes him a long moment to find his voice, and when he does it's raspy and hoarse.

"No, nothing like that. I…" He looks down at the flowers in front of him, buckets of them in every color and shape he can think of. He can only name one or two different varieties, a distant memory of his mother fussing over an ornate vase filled with carnations and roses. "Could I have one of each?"

She arches an eyebrow at him and tilts her head to the side, her eyes blink up at him and he gazes back, wondering how it could be possible that something so expressive is without sight. Her lips curl up into a smile, and he feels like she's learning his every secret with one look… sound, sense?

"One of each? I like it." She says, and he finds himself smiling back at her.

It's a barely-there lift of his lips but it's more than he's done in longer than he cares to remember. For a beautiful blind girl in the middle of a Saturday street market.

He's aware of the boy to her side watching him carefully, and the dog, a guide dog he realizes now, resting its head against her leg, but all he can focus on is her. Delicate hands quickly pluck a flower from each bucket, confident and unfaltering. And he watches as the colors come together, a mismatched bouquet that's everything he isn't.

It's beautiful.

He's going to take it and leave. He'll keep the memory of her little patch of sunlight and nothing more. He'll turn around and walk back the way he came, back to the mission, back to his life of following orders and losing his soul. Whatever's left of it.

He won't drag her down with him. This beautiful enigma, a little shard of hope.

He'll take the flowers and leave.

But then her fingers brush his as she hands him the bouquet, and his feet forget how to move.

"I'm Oliver."


	8. a little christmas magic

Growing up, Oliver's Christmases were always big and festive, parties and presents and endless amounts of food.

These days, December 25th is a little different.

It's been three years, since this time of year was anything but a lonely reminder of all that he'd lost. All that had been taken, all that had been squandered. Living a lonely life is fine, until those days come around when you're expected to have someone. When it gets thrown in your face that everyone else seems to have somewhere to go, people to go to.

Except him.

He's spent the day differently for the last three years. The first year was a drunken haze of bourbon and bad made for TV movies. The second was a day of reflecting on a cold beach, watching the waves come and go, disappearing into the sea only to return every time, unlike the things that mattered.

This year he's going for something a little more constructive. He saw the ad pinned up on a door a couple of weeks ago, and instantly knew he wanted to do it. The idea of spending Christmas with people even worse off than him, more attractive than it probably should be.

And that's how Oliver Queen finds himself handing out plates of cheap fried turkey and lumpy gravy at a soup kitchen on Christmas day.

It's a lot more jolly than he expected it to be. Which is both a blessing and a curse. The volunteers are a happy bunch, wearing cheesy Santa hats and chatting with the guests. But no one's looking at him, no one's wondering why he's there alone, where his family is. No one's asking who's waiting at home with a present and a festive meal. And he's glad for that at least.

The tables are filled with a variety of different people, some warming up to the holiday spirit despite their unfortunate circumstances, good-naturedly donning colorful paper crowns and digging into the somewhat sub-par meal as though it tasted of more than day old microwaved meat. Others a little more subdued, keeping to themselves, clearly just there for the warm food and shelter, ignoring the chatter and resemblance of celebration around them.

Oliver finds himself enjoying the work. The grateful smile he receives when he places a serving of turkey in front of a guest doing more to lift his spirits than he thought possible.

It's nearly six when she stumbles in. They haven't had a new arrival in a while, and he notices her instantly. She's one of the youngest there, bar the table of street kids who have spent the afternoon turning crackers into paper airplanes. Blonde hair curls around her shoulders and her arms are crossed across her middle, keeping her wool coat wrapped so tightly around her she looks like she's swaddled in the thing.

She finds a place at a table near the back and sits down without a word, propping her feet on the edge of the chair and resting her head on her bent knees. He quickly piles up a plate of food, choosing the nicest pieces of turkey he can find, and makes his way over to her, stopping to refill someone's hot chocolate as he goes.

Even looking lost in a way he relates to more than he'd like, he can't help but notice how beautiful she is.

Clear blue eyes stare sadly at the table and delightfully full lips are turned down at the corners. Her fingers are picking at the cuffs of her coat, chipped pink nail polish catching the light. She doesn't look like she fits in there, despite her sad countenance, she's fairly well dressed; her coat is clearly good quality and her shoes look warm and dry, her hair clean.

But he's not there to judge, so he places the food in front of her with a smile.

She jumps slightly and looks up at him, her lovely eyes meeting his, and he's embarrassed to admit that his heart stutters in his chest. She really is incredibly beautiful.

"Oh no, I don't need that." She says quickly, handing the plate back to him. "Thank you though."

He sinks into the chair opposite her with a frown. Her table is mostly empty, aside from an old woman who's still digging into her meal like she hasn't eaten in days.

"You should eat." He encourages, pushing the food back towards her. "It's better than it looks." It's a lie, and from the way her lips twitch up, she knows it too.

"No, I couldn't. I don't…" She looks around, looking slightly ashamed. "I don't _need_ it." Putting emphasis on the word, he understands what she's saying.

He didn't think she looked homeless, perhaps just a bit lost. Like him.

Smiling gently, he pushes the plate towards the old woman at the other end of the table. She's almost finished her own and is still eating ravenously. She mumbles something that sounds a lot like "Oh bless you" before tucking in.

The girl tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and glances at him nervously. "I don't come here to steal food from the less fortunate, I swear. I just… I come here sometimes to get away from life, you know? No one judges you here, or even really notices you. It's nice." She sighs and a pretty pink flush creeps across her cheeks.

"I get that. It's kind of why I'm here too." He murmurs, his breath catching his throat when her eyes meet his once more.

She smiles and there's a moment of understanding of the unspoken shared experiences that have led two people to be here alone on Christmas day.

"I'm Oliver." He holds out a hand towards her, and she slips her smaller one into it, squeezing gently with warm fingers.

"Felicity."

It's a beautiful name, and despite the sorrow clinging to her, he still thinks it fits.

He doesn't push her for reasons about why she's there, and she doesn't offer them. Both knowing that they wouldn't be there if they had anywhere else to go, and neither wanting to talk about why they don't.

Not really knowing what possesses him to ask, he shrugs off his sudden influx of nerves and clears his throat slightly.

"My shift ends in about twenty minutes… How would you feel about getting a Christmas drink somewhere?"

She watches him for a second before responding, and he gets the feeling that she can see right through him, right into his soul. He wonders if that would have been the case a few years ago, back when everything he said was carefully calculated and rarely what he actually thought. He's not like that anymore, he doesn't bother putting on a front for the world, no longer sees the point. And for some reason, this lonely, beautiful girl in front of him, seems to come to the same conclusion.

"I'm Jewish." She says after a moment, and he huffs out a short laugh, surprising himself. He can't remember the last time he did that.

"Well that's perfect. I hate Christmas." He states and the smile that creeps unbidden across her face makes his stomach swoop like he's a fourteen year old with a crush.

"Okay then."

"Okay?" He's entirely too eager, but really, what does he have to lose?

"Yeah, a drink would be nice." Her voice is soft and sweet and with her simple words this becomes the best day he's had in months. Perhaps years.

"Let me just help clear up, and we can go. Why don't you have some hot chocolate while you wait? I promise there's more than enough to go around."

They're winding down for the night, people slowly drifting back onto the streets, or off to find shelter somewhere else. It's a whole part of the world he was so unaware of growing up. Lavished with gifts and company, he never spared a thought for those who had none of it. For the people who's Christmas consisted of a free meal and a night spent in the cold. It's humbling, taking his mind off his own losses, his own sadness.

He leaves Felicity with a warm cup of cocoa and a smile that's unashamedly genuine. There's a spring in his step that wasn't there before as he helps clear up the plates, thanking people for coming and wishing them Happy Holidays.

And when he's finally ready to go, his hand falls to the small of Felicity's back, the lead in his chest slightly lighter than it was at the start of the day.

It's a dry evening, but the wind has a bite to it, and Felicity huddles into her coat as they step outside. She looks incredibly cute, with half her face tucked into her scarf, her hands buried deep into her pockets, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. He wonders how someone so utterly charming could find themselves alone on Christmas day. But knows that people probably think the same about him, and doesn't voice his curiosity.

She's a babbler. Words fall from her lips freely, accompanied by a blush that warms him to his toes. And by the end of the night, the sadness is gone from both their eyes, a kiss shared on her doorstep at midnight making it the best Christmas either of them have had in years.

It becomes their tradition. The next year, even when they have each other to spend the Holidays with, they go back to the place they met, and help serve food to the homeless. And they do the same every year after that for many to come, because Christmas is about giving and once they found each other, they had nothing more to ask for.


End file.
